


Many Years from Now

by dustnik



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustnik/pseuds/dustnik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Set in 2025.  A teen-aged girl living in Paul McCartney's childhood home discovers his old diary detailing his surprising relationship with John Lennon.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many Years from Now

Amanda Marks sat on her little bed wearing a look of abject misery that could only be seen on a girl of fourteen. She and her father, Joe, had recently moved into this house after he was ousted from his government post following the last election. They had been forced to sell their comfortable home near London to settle up north in Liverpool—and not in the _nice_ section of Liverpool either. But Joe had been offered a job there, and so they came.

Their new home had once been a council house, available to low-income families after some war or other had left parts of the city in rubble. But that was nearly a century ago, practically ancient history now. She supposed she must have learned about it in school, but who could be bothered remembering that stuff? And what did it matter anyway, now that she had had to leave her old school and all her friends behind? Her life was essentially over.

Soon after the pair had moved in, Amanda began to notice something very strange happening outside. Small groups of elderly pensioners would often gather in front of the house, whispering in hushed voices to one another or simply stand in the street staring in awe at the building’s brick façade. Rain or shine, they appeared, in ones, twos, or threes, as if making a pilgrimage to some holy shrine.

She had asked her father about this odd phenomenon. He had explained to her that their new house had rather a famous history. Apparently, some old-time pop star had passed some of his youth here. His name was Paul McKenzie or McCarthy or something—Amanda wasn’t sure. She _was_ sure that he was no Simon Bolt, the drummer for Dragonballz, he of the golden hair and pouting lips whose likeness graced one of the walls of her bedroom. Now why couldn’t they have moved into one of his old homes instead?

Amanda rose to go downstairs as it was almost time for lunch. But her left foot caught the edge of a slightly raised floorboard next to her bed, and she nearly tripped. Shit, this was the third time that had happened. She could imagine the headline now: FRIENDLESS TEEN-AGED GIRL KILLED IN FREAK FLOORBOARD ACCIDENT. She would have to remember to mention it to her father. For now, maybe it might be better to simply pry up the offending plank. Much to her surprise, it lifted out easily, exposing a small cavity below. She could see that there was something stuffed inside and reached her hand in carefully to retrieve it.

She pulled out a thick, black book, covered with a heavy layer of dust. Gently, she pulled back the fragile cover, revealing some words neatly printed across the first page in a bold hand: Property of James Paul McCartney—Private. It must have belonged to that pop star who had once lived here. She sat back on her bed and began to read. She didn’t expect to find anything interesting, but as it was a rainy summer day, and nothing better seemed likely to present itself, she settled in. The first entry read:

> _18 June 1957  
>  My 15th birthday. Aunt Milly made me a cake like mum used to do. It was my first birthday since she died, and it wasn’t the same. I did get some gear presents, though, all except for the clothes from Aunt Jin and this stupid diary from my dad. I know he thinks that if I scribble in this book, it will keep me from going barmy. It’s all because I’d rather play my guitar than talk._

Amanda smiled to herself. So far, they seemed to have something in common. She would soon be fifteen too, and her mother had died when she was a little girl. The next entries involved events within the boy’s family circle, until:

> _6 July 1957  
>  Ivan and I went to the fête at the church. There was a group onstage called the Quarrymen. Ivan knew the lead singer, a funny bloke named John Lennon. He didn’t know the proper words to the songs and couldn’t even play real guitar chords. I set him straight, though. He asked me to join the group, and I think I’m going to accept. I wonder what Dad will have to say about it._

Amanda didn’t have to wait long to find out:

> _31 October 1957  
>  Mum has been gone a whole year now. I still miss her and think of her every day. I wonder what she would have made of John. Dad doesn’t seem to like him much. He says John will only get me into trouble._

And later:

> _8 February 1958  
>  George finally got to play for John today. He’s really good, but John says he’s too young to be in the group. I hope he changes his mind._

Amanda heard her father call up the stairs to tell her that lunch was ready. Hurriedly, she stuffed the diary into the drawer of her night table and quickly descended the steps. She entered the kitchen in time to see her father set two steaming bowls of soup on the table. They both tucked in greedily. Over the years, they had given up most of the conventions that families with mothers observed, one being the need to keep up a running conversation during mealtimes. But today, Amanda had something on her mind. “There’s a loose floorboard in my room,” she complained.

“It’s an old house, Mandy. It needs a lot of work. I’ll get to it, though.”

She changed the subject somewhat abruptly. “Dad, what do you know about that old pop star who used to live here?”

Joe looked up in surprise. “Well, his name was Paul McCartney. He was in a band called the Beatles back in the 1960s, I think it was. I remember your grandparents always going on about them.”

Amanda giggled. The Beetles—what a stupid name for a band.

Joe continued. “I reckon they were just about the most famous blokes on earth back then—filthy rich, of course, all of them.”

“What were their names?”

“I don’t remember. I just recall McCartney because he was still performing into his seventies, doing all the old stuff, probably long dead by now. Oh, and there was a John somebody too.”

“John Lennon?” Amanda broke in excitedly.

Joe stared at his daughter in amazement. “Yeah, that’s right, but how did you know?”

“Oh, I must have heard one of the old geezers out front mention him.” For some reason, she wanted to keep her discovery to herself, for now anyway. “Was there a George too?”

“I couldn’t rightly say, could I? Now finish your soup before it gets cold.” And with that, the conversation ended.

After lunch, the pair spent the afternoon unpacking some of the boxes that still littered the hallway and much of the sitting room. They had lived there for several weeks already, but neither had been in any hurry to unpack them. Having lived together on their own for so long, they had fallen into a comfortable and relaxed routine.

Dinner was Chinese food from the take-away down the road. They ate it in on trays in front of the telly, as was their usual practice. But somehow the programs that night didn’t hold Amanda’s attention. Her mind kept wandering back to the diary, and she was grateful when bedtime finally arrived. But first, she needed to learn more.

Once inside her bedroom again, she voiced the words, “Internet open,” and a large screen appeared on the wall in front of her. “Beetles,” she spoke clearly. She was given a choice between the insect or the music group, and she noted the difference in spelling. Having chosen the latter, the screen immediately divided into four, smaller screens with the words IMAGES, MUSIC, MOVIES, and MORE prominently displayed. “Images.” At once she was greeted with an old photo of four, smiling young men in identical suits with their hair combed forward, laying heavy on their foreheads.

The caption denoted the two in front as John Lennon and Paul McCartney. Amanda studied them carefully. Even with the strange clothes and hair, she thought McCartney was very cute. His soft, pleasant face and near-black hair were a perfect complement to John’s more angular features and auburn locks. The two men behind them were identified as George Harrison and Ringo Starr. Ringo? Anyway, she was happy to see that John had let young George join the group.

There followed a series of photos featuring the quartet at different ages and wearing different styles, most of them quite amusing to young Amanda. She was curious to see more, but the lure of the diary was too strong. “Internet close.” The screen disappeared.

Changing into her pajamas, she slid between the sheets and began to peruse the yellowed pages eagerly. Most were filled with the mundane details of domestic life in the McCartney household; an overwhelmed widower and two growing boys. But she was anxious to read more about the Beatles and focused on the following entries:

> _15 July 1958  
>  John’s mother was killed by a car today, just when they were getting close. I know how he’s feeling right now. I wish I could be with him, even though I know there’s nothing I could do to help._

> _— August 1958  
>  I went to see John again. He’s still in a bad way about his mum. He seems to have lost all interest in music and the group. I won’t let him give up. I know together we’re going to be rich and famous._

> _— September 1959  
>  We got a booking to play the Casbah Club for the next seven Saturdays. We need to think of a better name for the group. Someone suggested we call ourselves the Beatles, with an A, like in beat music._

> _— November 1959  
>  John has been staying with a mate of his from the art college, a pimply little bloke named Stu. He’s John’s age, and when he’s around, John doesn’t want to know from me and George. I wish I were older and had my own place, so John could stay with me instead._

> _— January 1960  
>  John and I talked Stu into buying a bass guitar and joining the group. I don't really like him much, but he's John's friend, and we do need a bass player, I reckon._

> _— April 1960  
>  John and I have been spending our school holiday at cousin Bette’s pub. We’ve been helping out behind the bar and even got to play for the customers. We have to share the same bed, but I like it. I don’t even mind his snoring._

Amanda yawned, and after putting the diary back in the drawer, she turned out the light. Her mind was racing with thoughts of the boy who had once slept in this very same room.

The next day after breakfast, she was determined to learn more about McCartney and the other Beatles. She went online again, this time in search of information. There, she was inundated with articles about their music and their impact on everything from clothing styles to eastern religion. Her father was right. They had been very famous. Amanda, being of a rather romantic nature, now narrowed her search, hoping to find details of their love lives. Apparently, they had been married multiple times and had all produced children. She turned her attention back to the diary, noting the following entries:

> _— May 1960  
>  We’ve been offered a tour of Scotland. I think I might change my name. After all, what kind of name is Paul McCartney anyhow? No one will ever remember a name like that._

> _— August 1960  
>  We’re all going to Hamburg, Germany to play at a little club on the Reeperbahn. John says it’s the wildest place in all Europe. I can’t wait. Dad’s not going to like it, I’m sure, but Mike and I will convince him somehow. We needed a drummer, so we asked Pete Best to join us. He’s not great (not that any of us are, really), but at least, he’s quiet, and the birds seem to like him._

> _— August 1960  
>  John and I pulled some German girls—strippers—and brought them back to our room. They didn’t speak English, but they knew what to do alright. I was on the top bunk with mine, while John was on the bottom with his. I could hear them really going at it. Wait until we tell our mates back in Liverpool that we made it with real German strippers. Won’t they be half-jealous?_

> _— September 1960  
>  John took too many prellies tonight and was running his mouth again. He started shouting to some servicemen in the audience, calling them filthy Krauts and giving them the Nazi salute. They jumped up and started storming the stage. I pulled him away while the other guys held them off. Why does he act like that?_

> _— October 1960  
>  We’re getting a lot better as a group with all the hours of playing, even though we’re always exhausted and half-starved. There’s another Liverpool group here too with a great drummer named Ringo Starr. I wish we could have gotten him instead of Pete. Still, even Pete is better than Stu._

> _— November 1960  
>  Stu hasn’t been around much lately. He got engaged to some German bird and has begun not turning up for the gigs. Good riddance, I say. I’m going to take over the bass, and I’ll play it a damn sight better than old Stu Sutcliff._

> _— January 1961  
>  Here we are, back in Liverpool after being deported from Germany. We’ll be back in March with the proper permits, and by then, George will be eighteen. It’s nice to be home again, sleeping in a real bed and eating proper meals, but I miss being with John._

> _— February 1961  
>  John stayed over last night and we fooled around. We had to be quiet, though. What would my Dad say if he knew what we were up to?_

Amanda giggled. To think, all that went on here in her bedroom.

> _— September 1961  
>  John got an early birthday present today, a hundred quid from a rich relative. He wants to use it to go to Spain, and he’s asked me to go with him. He’s even offered to pay my way. He could have asked Stu or Cyn or even George or Pete, but he asked me instead. He must really like me._

> _— October 1961  
>  We found a room here in Paris with a nice comfortable bed. John says he doesn’t want to go to Spain anymore, so we’re going to stay here._

> _— October 1961  
>  We met our old friend Jürgen from Hamburg. He was wearing his hair long and brushed forward. We both liked it and asked him to cut our hair like that too. John looks great, but I look a right idiot. _

> _9 October 1961  
>  John’s twenty-first birthday. I bought him a hamburger at a little café along the Seine. We spent the day walking the streets and were glad to finally get back to our little room. We drank some wine and did something John has wanted to do for a long time. I like making him happy._

> _— October 1961  
>  We’re home again, and John and I are definitely together now. I guess it makes us queer, but I don’t care anymore. I love him, and he loves me too._

Amanda set the diary aside, a puzzled look clouding her young features. Why was there no mention of any romance between them on the internet? The old photos and videos clearly showed their mutual affection. Amanda now had the proof in her hands but didn’t feel it was her place to tell the world. She knew they had both gone on to marry other people. So what had happened between them? She was determined to find out.

As the summer wore on, Amanda immersed herself in her new passion, the Beatles, and in particular, Paul and John. She played their music almost nonstop, usually eliciting a good-natured groan from Joe. All her free time was now spent pouring over old photos, videos, and articles about them from the internet. Sometimes she even wished she were old, so she could have experienced it all first-hand.

She relived it all; from the greased-back hair and leather outfits of the early Hamburg days to the mop-tops and matching suits of Beatlemania, to the long unruly locks and psychedelic garb of the flower-power era. She laughed at their movies and reveled in their music. She sympathized with John when reading about the bigger-than-Jesus fiasco and rolled her eyes in disbelief at the Paul-is-dead hoax.

Through it all, the diary continued to fascinate the girl with its entries detailing the growing love between McCartney and Lennon. To her tender, young heart, it read like one of the romance novels that lined the shelves of her room. There with Heathcliff and Cathy, Darcy and Elizabeth, Rochester and Jane, now resided Lennon and McCartney, the greatest untold love story of the twentieth century. But it was a tale without a conclusion, as the entries abruptly stopped when Paul left Forthlin Road.

So what had happened between the two? She was no closer to finding the answer than she was when she began her search. Could it be that they had simply fallen out of love? Many sources on the internet were quick to blame the demise of the Beatles on the arrival of Yoko Ono and Linda Eastman. Were they also the cause of Paul and John’s breakup?

Amanda wondered if either man were still alive? She was shocked and saddened to discover that John had been gunned down at the age of forty while living in America. But much to her delight, she learned that Paul was still very much alive and living there in England. She wanted to return the diary to its rightful owner but had no idea how to reach him. However, fate would soon intervene.

One afternoon, as summer was coming to a close, there was a loud knock on the front door. Amanda and Joe turned to each other questioningly as neither of them was yet acquainted with anyone who would be likely to call. As Amanda moved toward the door, Joe called after her, “If it’s someone selling something, tell ‘em to bugger off.”

Amanda slowly opened the heavy door to reveal a pretty, blonde woman. She looked to be a few years older than Amanda, probably just out of university. Her clothing was obviously very expensive, and her scent was that of a famous designer. Whoever she was, she certainly wasn’t there to sell them anything, and the Markses weren’t wealthy enough to be a target for thieves or conmen.

“Hello,” she spoke with a posh accent, “I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I was just wondering if it would be possible for us to have a look around inside your home. You see, he used to live here a long time ago and would so dearly love to see it again.” She indicated a very old man standing behind her, leaning on a cane. Amanda had at first mistaken him for just another of the old farts that regularly lined the sidewalk.

As they appeared quite harmless, she saw no reason to deny their request. She nodded and held the door open for the pair. Joe had heard the whole exchange from inside and quickly ushered the old man to the sofa. He then put a hand out to the attractive, young woman. “I’m Joe Marks, and this is my daughter, Amanda. We’ve only recently moved in, and we’re still getting settled. You’ll find it a bit of a mess, I’m afraid.”

“Please, don’t concern yourself about that. My father just had a wish to visit his old home once more.” Her father? Amanda had taken him for her grandfather.

Joe spoke again. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch the name.”

The woman seemed somewhat taken aback but quickly recovered. “This is my father, Paul McCartney.” She paused, adding, “And my name is Beatrice—Bea.”

Joe and Amanda turned in amazement to the old man. So this was the famous Paul McCartney, perched there on their sitting room sofa. Joe nervously excused himself to make some tea while Amanda studied the old man carefully. He was no longer recognizable as the cute baby-faced man in the old photos, but there still remained a familiar twinkle in his droopy, hazel eyes.

He was studying the fireplace and spoke for the first time. His voice sounded surprisingly strong. “That’s where John and I used to write our music, sitting face to face like mirror images of each other. Except that John wore glasses, big, thick, black-framed ones.” He chuckled, remembering. “How he hated them. It took him ages before he would wear them in front of me.”

Bea winked at Amanda as if begging her indulgence. No one spoke again until Joe arrived with the tea things and some chocolate biscuits. Bea rose to help him pour, and he flashed her a grateful smile.

When everyone had been served, Joe asked, “So Mr. McCartney, how long has it been since you saw the old place?”

The old man paused before answering, “It must be almost sixty years now. And please, call me Paul.”

“I guess a lot has changed since then.”

McCartney just smiled sadly in reply.

“We have plans to fix the place up, but it’s difficult without a woman about. Since my wife died, it’s just been my girl here and me. We do the best we can, but it’s not the same, is it?”

Paul nodded in agreement. “After my mum died, my father was left alone to raise two boys here. I was only fourteen at the time—about your age, I expect.” He nodded toward Amanda.

“I’m nearly fifteen,” she corrected him and then added, “John’s mother died when he was young too.”

Paul’s eyed widened in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

Joe explained proudly. “Amanda here has become quite the Beatles fan. I guess living in this house has rubbed off on her.”

She grinned sheepishly. “I even sleep in your old bedroom, the one in the front.”

Paul tilted his head questioningly toward the girl.

Bea spoke. “Dad, maybe we’d better get started, so we can leave these nice people alone.”

They all stood, Bea gently taking her father’s arm.

Paul pointed out where his father’s old piano had once stood, and he marveled at all the updates to the kitchen since his mother had last cooked for her little family there. After finishing touring the first floor, they moved upstairs. The old man climbed slowly, his cane tapping a rhythm on the creaky wooden steps.

“This first bedroom is mine,” Joe explained.

Paul chuckled. “It used to belong to my mum and dad. When I was angry at them, I’d go in and rip the curtains a little bit. Silly really, but I always felt that I’d gotten even.

They moved on to the smaller bedroom in the back. “This used to be my brother Mike’s room. We lost him last winter.” He turned his eyes down, and his bottom lip trembled slightly.

Bea squeezed his arm, and he managed a weak smile.

They moved on to the last bedroom. “This is my room,” Amanda announced proudly. She studied Paul’s face carefully and thought she saw his aged eyes settle momentarily on the floor beside her bed before looking up. Or perhaps it was only her imagination.

“Well, that’s the tour—unless you’d like to have a look at the garden,” Joe added hopefully, “Maybe you can give me some suggestions about what to do with it.”

Bea forced a polite smile. “I’d love to. Dad?”

Paul shook his head. “If Amanda doesn’t mind, I think I’d rather just sit here for a bit.”

The girl agreed eagerly. “It’s okay. I’ll stay with him.”

Joe and Bea left, and Paul lowered himself gingerly onto the edge of the bed. Amanda did the same. She watched in silence as the old man sat gazing about the room, peeling back the decades and viewing it through the eyes of the past. Although his expression remained unchanged, she sensed a kaleidoscope of emotions going on under the surface.

“Who’s that then?” Paul nodded toward the image of the handsome rock star on the wall.

“That’s Simon Bolt. He’s the drummer for Dragonballz.”

“Any good?”

Amanda was surprised to hear herself answer, “I used to think so, but now I like your stuff better. ‘Strawberry Fields’ is my favorite.”

Paul’s face lit up. “That was John’s song—one of his best too.”

“Do you still think about him?”

McCartney swallowed hard. “Every day,” he answered wistfully.

“What was he like?”

Paul smiled broadly now, clearly warming to the subject. “John wasn’t like anyone else. He always saw the world a little differently than other people. I guess you’d say he was a mass of contradictions. He was arrogant and insecure, cruel and kind, aloof and warm. And he was irritating and fascinating, crazy and brilliant, abrasive and magnetic. He was John.” He seemed lost in the memory of his old partner, completely forgetting the young girl seated beside him.

Amanda stepped over to the nightstand and pulled out the diary. “I found this under a loose floorboard. I would have returned it to you sooner, but I didn’t know how to contact you. I guess it’s time that you got it back.”

Paul’s craggy face looked puzzled at first, but as he reached for the diary, a look of slow realization washed over him. Amanda was slightly alarmed at his shocked expression. She hadn’t meant to upset him. What would Bea say?

When he was finally able to speak, he said, “I’d forgotten that I left this here.” He flipped through the pages quickly. “I suppose you’ve read it?” His voice sounded casual, but his sharp eyes studied her face intently.

Amanda fidgeted uncomfortably, shuffling her feet. “At first, I didn’t even know who you were. Then I got curious and ... ” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

Paul placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright, love. I would have read it too.”

Amanda sighed in relief. He really was a sweet old thing.

“Did you show it to your father?”

“No, I was afraid he would want to put it in a museum or something.”

“Does anyone else know about it?”

“I don’t have any friends here yet, and my old friends back home wouldn’t really be interested.”

Paul appeared satisfied with her answers.

“Amanda, I need to ask you for a big favor. Please, don’t ever tell anyone about what you’ve read in here. Will you do that for me?”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Never. You must never talk about it, even to your father. Promise?”

“I promise,” she swore solemnly. Then her curiosity got the better of her. “But whatever happened to you and John? You were so in love. Why did you break up?”

Paul seemed to search for an answer that would satisfy the girl. “The world wasn’t ready for our kind of love,” he answered simply.

“If I had a love like that, I wouldn’t care what anyone thought.”

“But you have to understand that things were very different back then. If anyone had found out about John and me, we would have been finished in the business and probably personally as well. Our families and friends might have disowned us, and we could have even been arrested. In order to be together, we would have had to give up everything.” He continued. “All the secrecy and lies were tearing us apart, and we took out our frustration on each other. We just couldn’t pretend anymore and finally agreed that it had to end.” He added dejectedly. “It didn’t make it any easier, though.”

Amanda sat listening with a sensibility far beyond her years, her young heart breaking for the old man seated next to her. She saw him not as he was now, tired and broken, but the way he had once been, young and attractive and deeply in love. She saw John too, with his wild, reckless spirit and devilish grin. They should have been together forever. Instead, they were forced to part and make their lives with other people. It all seemed so impossibly tragic to the romantic young girl. “If things had been different back then, you would have been together.”

McCartney explained patiently, “But we wouldn’t have married the wonderful women we did, and we wouldn’t have all the amazing children and grandchildren we have now.”

Amanda nodded in understanding, but a sudden image filled her head. It was of two, elderly gentlemen living quietly somewhere in Scotland, still together and very much in love. And for all his brave words to the contrary, she had a feeling that deep down inside, Paul saw it too.


End file.
